


i sit in the car and i listen to static

by kuroshous (orphan_account)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Thieves, Angst, Angst and Humor, Comedy, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, POV Alternating, Romance, Roommates, Slow Build, Slow Burn, im going to get bullied so hard for this but its a leverage au, lots of changes to initial canon just an fyi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-24 20:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22063810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/kuroshous
Summary: Someday, Kuroo will tell his mom. Someday, he’ll go up to her and say:you know, I didn’t mean to drop out of my biochemistry degree and become a criminal mastermind, but here we are, I guess.The thing is, Kuroo has always been smart.It’s how he ended up with a full ride scholarship to one of the most prestigious schools in Japan. He was lucky.But the sad thing was, he didnt feel lucky. He felt miserable. Well, maybe miserable wasn’t the word, but bored definitely was.So now, he‘s “friends” with a ragtag gang of thieves, and he’s...well, he’s the leader.But that’s getting ahead of the story.ORthe leverage au that (quite literally) no one but me and my friend asked for(you dont need to watch leverage to understand the fic, but it helps)
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Daishou Suguru/Kuroo Tetsurou, Hinata Shouyou/Kozume Kenma
Comments: 11
Kudos: 56





	1. when i grew up, was gonna be a superstar

**Author's Note:**

> me, two wips that i havent updated in MONTHS: dont fucking do it  
> me: i have an idea
> 
> fic title from life itself by glass animals. chapter title from the same song.
> 
> once again, you dont need to watch the show to understand the fic, but its a REALLY good show and like? surprisingly progressive? leverage said fuck capitalism.
> 
> anyways, im on tumblr @sugwru! no freaks allowed.
> 
> hope you enjoy!
> 
> OH a few notes for understanding: bold means its a flashback, and is there to provide some dramatic irony/humor/explanation to the story.
> 
> the end is pretty vague but they do all end up being roommates!
> 
> i will keep a running tally of what chapter is what episode!

Someday, Kuroo will tell his mom. Someday, he’ll go up to her and say: _you know, I didn’t mean to drop out of my biochemistry degree and become a criminal mastermind, but here we are, I guess._

The thing is, Kuroo has always been smart. Smart enough to get into trouble and smart enough to get out of it. Kuroo is smart, ridiculously so. He could memorize facts like none other and work out logic problems with the blink of an eye. It’s how he ended up with a full ride scholarship to one of the most prestigious schools in Japan. He was lucky.

But the sad thing was, he didnt feel lucky. He felt miserable. Well, maybe miserable wasn’t the word, but _bored_ definitely was. He felt trapped in his head, he could run circles around his classes and his classmates, and it didn’t really seem to have a point. 

So now, he‘s “friends” with a ragtag gang of thieves, and he’s...well, he’s the leader.

But that’s getting ahead of the story.

**$**

It happens on a Monday night. A Monday night, that Kuroo happens to be getting drunk on. Since he turned 20, it’s been one of his favorite things to do. It lets him get out of his own head, for a while. He’s sitting in a dingy bar, indulging in his alcoholic tendencies, when he’s approached by an old, ugly white man. The man sits down next to him and says, “Kuroo? Kuroo Tetsurou?” His pronunciation is fucking abysmal, but Kuroo nods anyways. “I’m Richard Weston, and I have a job for you,” Richard Weston drones out in awful Japanese. 

“Didn’t ask, now did I?”

“You see, I run a successful international airplane company, I provide designs, money, and business. Far too boring to explain in depth, I’m sure you understand.”

“Still didn’t ask.”

“My latest designs that my company were working on were recently stolen.” 

“If you’re going to continue speaking at least do it in a language you can understand and give my ears a rest.”

Weston mutters, in English, under his breath “Difficult bastard.”

Kuroo grins at him in his drunken stupor and says, with perfect English: “Quite. Now, I have to leave this bar, this ones become dangerous for my health.”

The man pales and Kuroo turns to leave. 

“I need you to steal my designs back!” 

Kuroo flips him off over his shoulder and stumbles towards the door. His hand is on the doorknob when Weston tries again.

“The man who stole them is insured by your father’s company.”

Kuroo freezes. He hesitates, then flips around and strides towards Weston. He (drunkenly) gets right in his face and says: “And how would I be stealing these plans?”

“Stealing them _back_. And you’re not doing the stealing.” Richard Weston pulls out three files and hands them to Kuroo. The names mean nothing to Kuroo, but the rap sheets are impressive-did that one steal the Dresden Diamond?- and even Kuroo feels a prickle at his conscience.

“No.” Kuroo says, glancing over them. “I’m not a thief.”

“And thats why I _need_ you! Listen these guys, everyone says the same thing about them: you can’t trust them, no matter what. I just need one _honest_ man, one honest and one _very smart_ man to watch them,” at this, Weston pulls out a magazine clipping of Kuroo, he’s 18, beaming at the camera, one arm wrapped around his mother and one holding up the document declaring his complete scholarship to his dream school. The school he ~~was kicked out~~ dropped out of. “Please. I’m desperate and so are you.” Weston knows he’s won. He’s the type of man who, in the business world, got very good at groveling.

“Why me, specifically?” Kuroo asks, still accepting the briefcase Weston hands him. 

“Oh, that.” Weston smiles, and it seems menacing. “Well, you’re their age.” 

And then he turns and leaves, leaving Kuroo with a briefcase full of thieves.

**$**

They meet in the construction site, as planned. The building is basically finished, but its offices are not in use, and the entire place is vacant at night, so it’s a good play. Kuroo begrudgingly admits to himself that Weston might know what he’s doing, though seeming like a thoroughly incompetent rich white man.

Kuroo is the first to arrive. He stands in the lobby of the unfinished building, checks his watch but doesn’t see the time with how distracted he is. And then he waits. He’s glancing around when he feels an unsettling gaze on him. He’s about to whirl around when his attention is diverted to someone struggling with the door opposite. Then, a hulking figure busts through.

“Hey hey hey!”

**$**

Bokuto Koutaro is many things, but quiet is not one of them. He, of course, knows this about himself, and doesn’t particularly care. Who needs stealth when you can siphon money out of bank accounts from halfway around the world? He doesn’t need to be quiet. His strengths lay with other things. He fumbles with the door to the lobby for about three seconds before getting frustrated and just shoving it open. There’s a quiet crack and _finally_ the door swings open. An unfamiliar face is waiting in the lobby for him, staring slack jawed. He grins and bounds over.

“Hey hey hey! You must be the one who’s not a thief! Why we need a babysitter I have no idea, but I’m glad you’re here. You seem pretty cool, I like your hair. Anyways, where are the others?”

The man continues to stare at him for a few seconds before regaining his composure. “Right, you must be the muscle Weston hired.”

Bokuto’s brow crinkles in confusion. “No, I’m-”

A voice from the shadows cuts him off, and out of them glides a figure, melting into the light in a way that you know he was there the whole time.

“No, that would be me,” the man has a bored look on his face and Bokuto recognizes him immediately. One of the most notorious retrieval experts alive: “Akaashi Keiji. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

**$**

Akaashi Keiji is many things but pleased is not one of them. However, he was raised to be polite, and he doesn’t want his typical snark getting in the way of the massive pay out he was promised. He takes in the two people in front of him. Both of them have atrocious hair, he notes. But there’s really nothing else he can glean from them.

The man, Kuroo Tetsurou, snorts at his words. “Anyone with eyes can see you’re not _pleased_.”

“I have eyes…” the other man grumbles unhappily, and Akaashi allows himself to recognize him.

Bokuto Koutarou. An insanely famous hacker. Perhaps if he stopped with the childish (though, frankly impressive) pranks and focused on something, he could actually do something with all that fame. Akaashi remembers he was in Tokyo when Bokuto made all the electronic billboards simultaneously play The Bee Movie with a German dub. It was halfway over by the time they managed to fix it.

“Bee Movie,” Akaashi blurts out instead of saying anything intelligent.

Kuroo shoots him a confused look, but Bokuto knows exactly what he’s referring to.

“Oh that was fucking _awesome_! God that was great, I need to do something like that again. Though granted the whole thing was so I could hack into the Japan Post Bank and rob a bunch of people blind, and I’m really running out of high tech banks to rob at this point, but-”

Kuroo clears his throat, Bokuto shoots him an apologetic grin.

“Right, not a criminal. Sorry. Anyways I really need to do something _big_ again it’s been a while. Since like-”

A voice cuts him off and at first Akaashi thinks Kuroo is speaking but the voice is far different. 

“You talk too much.”

Akaashi turns and sees someone sitting criss-cross on the lobby counter. He hasn’t looked up from what he’s doing, which, from the glow illuminating his face, seems to be playing a Nintendo switch. 

Akaashi didn’t even hear him come in.

Kuroo jumps halfway across the lobby and Bokuto lets out a startled yelp.

“Who are you?” Akaashi asks, because he doesn’t know this person, doesn’t recognize them.

“Kenma.”

“Kenma what?” Kuroo prompts. 

“Nope. Kenma.”

Bokuto yelps again. “ _The_ Kenma?”

“The one and only,” Kenma powers off his switch and pulls a padlock out of his backpack. He picks it within fifteen seconds, locks it again, and repeats the process.

“B-but,” Bokuto begins to stammer. “You-You’re.”

“I think what Bokuto’s trying to say is that your fucking insane.”

“What and you two notorious thieves are perfectly sound in mind?” Kuroo snarks at them. 

Kenma smiles a bit at this, then says. “I grew up across the street from you.”

There’s dead silence before a simultaneous three-way: “Wait, what?”

“Kuroo Tetsurou. We were neighbors before you and your mom left.” Kenma says, sounding almost bored. Kuroo grimaces at his words. “Granted,” he continues, “I went by a different name and I was,” he pauses, considering what to say, “nine.”

**$**

Kenma can visibly see Kuroo rifle through his mental library trying to figure out who he is. Finally his eyes light with realization.

“Koz-” he starts, and is interrupted by Kenma slapping a hand over his mouth.

“It’s just Kenma, now.” He waits for anyone else to speak. Might as well get it all out of the way now. When no one does he continues. “So, are we thieves or loiterers?”

“So were just going to ignore the fact that you two grew up across the street from each other? Cuz that’s pretty fucking crazy,” Bokuto remarks.

Kenma frowns at this. “I mean, I was.” He intended to end his statement there, but realizes that it could be confusing. “Ignore it, that is.”

Kuroo shrugs and says. “This is a one off. I’m never seeing you guys again, and frankly I’d prefer to forget this ever happened. I’m not a thief.”

“That’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said all night.”

“I’ve said, like, two things, Mr. Muscle.”

“I have other interests, you know. My only personality trait isn’t beating people up. You get that, right?”

Kuroo waves a dismissive hand. “Whatever you say.”

Akaashi’s face contorts into what must be a barely suppressed snarl.

“I have to ask again; are we thieves, or loiterers?”

“Thieves.” Akaashi and Bokuto say. Kuroo pointedly abstains.

**$**

Kenma _is_ fucking insane, Kuroo decides. The guy ziplines from the top of the empty building to the lower one which they’re breaking into, and drags Akaashi along with him.

“You coming, Bokuto?” he asks.

Bokuto takes one look at the rig Kenma has set up and violently shakes his head.

“Y’know, I can do computers from here. I mean, y’all do know how to operate a flash drive, right? If not you better learn because I am so _not_ doing that. I’ll hack a helicopter or some shit if I really need to get over there.”

“Really?” Kenma asks. “You don’t seem like the wimp type.”

“I work out, it doesn’t mean I’m ready to fucking _die._ No way, dude.”

Kenma shrugs his shoulders and jumps easily off the building. 

Akaashi audibly gulps, then turns and looks pointedly at Kuroo. “You see?”

Kuroo considers this for a second. “Yeah okay he’s. Well. Uh.” He agrees after a beat.

“Impulsive? Socially inept? Has both a death wish and a god complex? Yeah.” Akaashi says.

Suddenly Kenma’s voice crackles in their ears. “ _I’m not impulsive, I’m good at making decisions. I don’t have a death wish because it’s perfectly safe, and I’m good at what I do, sue me. I’ll give you socially inept, though._ ”

“I forgot about the comms,” Akaashi swears quietly.

Bokuto seems indignant. “You’re welcome!” He yells.

Akaashi sighs, clips himself into the death rig, and jumps off the building. Kuroo sees him suppress a scream on the way down, and laughs into his hand.

Bokuto seems to be considering something. “It actually does look pretty fun.”

“I thought you weren’t ready to die?”

“I mean, they’re fine. I think?” He strains his neck to see the others.

“ _We’re fine, Bokuto-san_ ,” Akaashi says.

“What’s with the san? You could kill me if you wanted to.”

“ _You’re older than me._ ”

“AM I? Shit. That’s weird.”

Kuroo snorts. “By one year.”

“Yeah yeah whatever. It’s still weird to think I’m older than someone who could murder me with a toothpick.”

 _“Why does everyone assume I’ve killed people_?”

No one responds.

Bokuto cracks open a laptop and starts typing frantically. “Okay, it’s gonna take me a minute but I can get both of you a way in if you just hold tight for a-”

Kenma jumps off the building. (Again.)

“Holy shit,” Kuroo says quietly.

“Holy shit!” Bokuto shrieks.

From across the street they can see Kenma float down to a window several stories above the ground.

“Binoculars,” Kuroo holds his hand out to Bokuto.

“Way ahead of you, bro.” A pair is slapped into his hand with, what Kuroo considers to be, excessive force.

Through the binoculars, Kenma cuts a hole in the glass using god knows what gadget, then carefully use what looks like a massive suction cup to remove the glass and drop it into the street.

“Sure hope that doesn’t hit anyone,” Bokuto says. Kuroo snorts.

Kenma then swings himself just barely out from the building, and then swings full force into it.

 _He’s gonna get us fucking caught,_ Kuroo barely has time to think before Kenma smashes into the side of the building.

But, he never does. The thief curls his body at the last second, and rolls through the tiny hole in the glass.

Bokuto has gone back to his computer and is typing frantically. “Okay, Akaashi, Kenma’s coming to get you, but I’ll disable the alarms and security system so you guys can get through. This thing is rigged from here to fucking Nantucket so it’s gonna take me a bit for each door. So y’know. Be careful.”

 _“I feel like that was directed at me,”_ Kenma says.

Akaashi laughs over the comms. _“Why do I get the feeling that you’ve never followed the advice ‘be careful’ in your life?”_

“Listen. Doing dumb stunts, like say, eating an entire jumbo box of Nilla Wafers in 2 minutes is not the same as, I dunno. _Getting caught while robbing a high profile businessman._ ”

Kenma snorts. “ _He has a point_.”

They continue in relative silence for a few moments. The only noise being Kenma humming what sounds like the Poekmon theme song and Bokuto telling them when the doors are clear, despite Akaashi saying that they know. (The lights for the security system go off on the doors when they’re disabled.)

Finally they reach the last door, and when it opens, there’s two guards behind it.

 _“We have company,”_ Akaashi says over the comms.

“How many?”

_“Two. I thought they weren’t supposed to be here.”_

_“Why are they here?_ ” Kenma hisses, “ _And they’re almost like. HERE. They’re about to see us_.”

Kuroo grumbles. “I don’t _know._ The guard schedule doesn’t have them doing rounds for another hour.”

Bokuto drags a hand down his face. “Listen I can buy you guys some time by making an alarm go off on the other side of the building but-”

Akaashi sighs. _“That won’t be necessary.”_

There’s the faint sounds of yelling and Akaashi talking quietly.

 _“Listen, don’t shoot. I’m just going to put my hands up and I’m going to drop my bag. And then I’m going to-”_ There’s a loud snap over the comms and a scream. There’s more sounds of fighting but it doesn’t last long.

 _“Uhh. Akaashi.”_ Kenma warns.

“ _Another guy saw us, he’s headed for backup. Kuroo what do we do_?”

“Kuroo- _san_ , why does Bokuto get honorifics?”

_“Because he’s not annoying. WHAT DO WE DO?”_

“Get the designs and get out. The lobby is open but you’ll need disguises.”

 _“On it,”_ Kenma chirps.

_“Please don’t-okay he’s doing it. Okay.”_

“Doing what?”

_“Guards uniforms.”_

Kuroo pulls a face. “They’re not dead are they?”

_“For the last time! I don’t kill people!”_

Kuroo waves a dismissive hand and then realizes Akaashi can’t see him, and promptly feels like an idiot.

The rest of the job goes relatively easier, they get the designs, get out, and get their money.

Well, except for that last part.

**$**

Kenma arrives at the warehouse and he’s _pissed._ This was a massive pay out. He wouldn’t have worked in a team if it hadn’t been.

Except it _wasn’t_ a massive pay out. Because he didn’t get any _money._

He arrives at the warehouse and everyone else is there. Why is everyone else there?

And then Kuroo starts laughing. Akaashi lunges for him but Bokuto puts a hand on his shoulder. “Why are you _laughing_?”

“Think about it. The only way to get us all in the same place would be to tell us we’re not getting our money. And why would Weston want us in the same place?”

Realization dawns on the three of them just as Kenma notices the wires.

“Run!” Akaashi yells and they all bolt for the exit.

The building erupts behind them.

**$**

Kuroo makes sure no one sees them leave, makes sure Weston has probable cause to think they’re dead.

Kenma hotwires a van in the parking lot and they all pile inside.

“Is there anything you _can’t_ do?” Bokuto asks.

“I can’t drive. I can’t swim. I’m pretty bad at English. I’m also pretty bad at math. I can’t drink alcohol well. I can’t-”

Akaashi looks confused. “Wait, you can hotwire a car but you can’t drive?”

“Two different ball games. I can also break into a locked car using a credit card.”

“ _How?_ ” Kuroo asks.

“Well, first you have to-”

“No, how is it two different ball games.”

“Hotwiring is stealing. Driving is not. Now can we get going?” 

Bokuto volunteers to drive. He speeds the whole time and almost kills them four times. He drives them to Kuroo’s apartment. Kuroo never told him his address. He shoots him a horrified look. 

Bokuto just shrugs. “I do my research.”

“I’m never putting anything online ever again.”

“Doesn’t matter. People who think they’re off the grid? They never are.”

“Well, that’s terrifying,” Akaashi says flatly.

Bokuto shrugs again. “Yeah, kinda.”

Much to Kuroo’s horror, as soon as they’re all in his apartment, they all make themselves at home.

Kenma commandeers the outlet nearest to the couch, pulls a power strip out of his bag, and plugs in what seems like 8 different chargers. Akaashi starts going through his books, making faces at most of them. And Bokuto, without even asking for the password, connects to his wifi and starts playing music off his television’s speakers.

“Can you-” Kuroo walks over to stop Kenma from using the outlets in his kitchen as well, Kenma just waves him off “Can you all, not?”

“Why do you have so much Amy Tan? She’s American.”

“I’m fluent in English. My mom’s African American. _Can you please stop going through my stuff?_ ”

“No,” they all say simultaneously. Kuroo suppresses a yell.

“Please stop invading my privacy, all of you.”

Akaashi pulls out his copy of Aristotle and Dante. “Okay, gayboy,” he says, then puts it back on the shelf.

Bokuto looks up from his computer and says: “Dude you have SO many Amazon orders in your internet history. How are you not in debt?”

“OH MY GOD.”

“Bro did you seriously order five different 3-D puzzles of cats?”

“I get bored and-can you stop it.”

“So,” Kenma starts, picking a padlock (which he no doubt brought with him) one handed, “What’s the plan?”

All of them turn and look at Kuroo. “Wha-why are you all looking at me?”

“Plans are kinda your jam, right?” Bokuto asks.

“I mean, I guess? But we’re all burned and can’t con him. Unless Akaashi wants to kill him we _have_ no plan.”

They stew on that for a while. Kenma chews on his lip and says, finally, “I…might know a guy.”

**$**

Daishou Suguru is the worst actor Kuroo has ever seen. He hates him immediately for no discernable reason.

**$**

Daishou notices them in the alley after the show. He recognizes three of them, and that’s never good. Thieves knocking at your door either means they want money or help, and Daishou isn’t willing give either.

“Kenma, is that you? To what do I owe the pleasure?” Daishou’s voice is coated in false honey.

“Cut the shit, Suguru.”

“We’re hardly familiar enough for you to call me that,” he snarls.

“I think we’re well past these pleasantries, don’t you?”

“Fine, what do you want. Showing up with two famous thieves, I might think you came to con me.”

The other two thieves are staring in slack jawed fear at him, the unfamiliar one regards him with an unimpressed look. Daishou hates him immediately.

He speaks in a bored tone. “He can’t con our mark with that hair.”

“I think you’ll find I can con any mark with any hair. I’m Daishou Suguru, and you are?”

“Kuroo Tetsurou. Kenma I think we should find someone else.”

Bokuto elbows him. “Kuroo, do you know who that is?” He yell-whispers.

“ _Yes_ , Kuroo, do you _know_ who _I_ am?”

“No, and I don’t particularly care.”

“I’m the greatest grifter alive, at the moment. I take it you’re not a thief, so I don’t really see why I should be taking orders from you. Or why any of them should.”

He shrugs noncommittally, but if Daishou is one thing, he’s good at reading people, and Kuroo is furious. “For the greatest grifter alive, you sure are terrible at acting.”

“ _Excuse you?_ ”

Kenma turns to him. “That’s not his stage. Trust me, this guy is the best.”

“Listen to your lackey, Kuroo! I’m the best there is, and I’m, sadly, out of your price range.”

Kenma grins like a cat. “You owe me, Suguru.”

“You’re calling that in, _now_?”

“Sure am.”

“I don’t wanna help this dude,” Daishou jerks his thumb at Kuroo. Kuroo barely suppresses a snarl.

“You owe me,” he repeats.

Daishou considers this for a moment. He should say no, say fuck off. But he _does_ owe him. Honor amongst thieves and all that.

“Fine. But that guy sits in the back of the van.” He looks at Kuroo and jerks his head towards the van he assumes they came in.

Kuroo starts. “No fucking w-”

“Deal.” Kenma says.

**$**

Richard Weston is one of the dumbest white men Daishou has ever met, and, being in the business he’s in, he’s met a lot of dumb white men.

The idiot falls for his act immediately.

Daishou is decked out in a business suit, and, (much to Daishou’s dismay) a black wig. He refuses to admit it but it was probably a good call on Kuroo’s part. He won’t be caught dead saying that.

Weston takes the bit with ease. Daishou has two days to con him, Kuroo made this point clear. He could do it in a fucking hour.

“Weston? Richard Weston?” He lays the accent on as thick as possible. White people generally think accents equal stupidity, and he wants to seem stupid.

Weston turns around. “Yes, that’s me.”

“I hear you have business in Japan.”

“That’s correct bu-may I ask why you care?”

“Japan International is saying they can make you millions. Well, I…I have a _much_ more generous offer, much.”

“Listen. The deal is basically sealed whatever you’re doing it’s-it won’t work.” Daishou can tell he’s got him, though.

“Mr. Weston, I can get you airlines in Japan. I can get you airlines in Peru. I can get you airlines in Nigeria. Japan International can make you millions, yes. But me? _I_ can make you _billions_.” Daishou pauses for dramatic effect. “Unfortunately, I’m a bit busy at the moment. However, my company has an office right here in this city. Where you can meet with both our Japanese partners and Nigerian partners, tomorrow afternoon. How’s two?”

“Listen I don’t even know your _name_ I-”

“Devereaux. Devereaux Hayate.”

“Devereaux? That’s-”

“My father was French,” Daishou lies seamlessly. “Now, where were we? Tomorrow? Two?” He pulls out a business card Bokuto fabricated for him. 

**_Bokuto: “There’s a bug inlaid in the cardstock. Very delicate, don’t crush it or I’ll be out a very long very tiring project. As long as he has it with him we can hear everything he says. Pretty sweet, right?”_ **

**_Daishou: “Indeed.”_ **

He hands the business card to Weston. “Call me if you have questions. My number and the office address is on the card. Tomorrow at two. Remember Mr. Weston, _billions._ ”

He leaves, making sure Weston watches him for a while before turning the corner and allowing his shoulders to slouch.

“Someone get me out of this fucking tie, or so help me _god_.”

“ _Get your own fucking tie off.”_ Kuroo’s voice crackles over the comms.

Daishou yanks on said tie, and pops open the top buttons of his shirt. “Felt like I was gonna fucking suffocate in there.”

 _“Shouldn’t you be used to that?”_ Akaashi asks.

“Just because I’m used to it doesn’t mean I _like_ it.”

An incredibly nice sports car pulls up to the curb where he’s struggling with his tie. He opens the door and slides in next to Bokuto.

He gestures to the car around them. “Where’d you-”

“Kenma,” he says, like it explains everything.

Daishou nods, because it does.

Over the comms Kuroo says: _“I hope you don’t bitch this much all the time, because we’ve got a lot more to do tomorrow.”_

“I will bitch as much as I goddamn please. I’m doing all the heavy lifting since you guys are idiots and burned yourselves.”

Kuroo scoffs. _“Us getting burned was no fault of our own. The dude hired us for god’s sake.”_

“Plus I’m pretty sure Akaashi is doing the literal heavy lifting,” Kenma chirps as he pops up from the back of the car. Daishou nearly jumps out of his skin.

“ _Jesus Christ,_ can you _not_ do that maybe?”

Bokuto nods his assent. “We need to put a bell around his neck.”

“Do you even _know_ how good I am? A bell wouldn’t do anything,” Kenma says, rolling his eyes.

“He’s right,” Daishou agrees, still ruffled with surprise.

“Oh guys there’s an epic video game store up here can we swing by?”

_“Are you going to pay for them?”_

Kenma seems indignant. “Obviously not.”

 _“No,”_ says Kuroo.

“Sure,” say Bokuto and Daishou.

“ _NO_.” 

Daishou grins, menacing and mischievous. “I wanna see how much he can get out before anyone notices.”

Bokuto cackles as Kenma says: “Turn here,” and he yanks the car into a dangerous turn.

“ _GUYS NO._ ”

**$**

The answer is seventeen switch games, eleven for a DS, nine for other various consoles, six Pokemon plushies, four t-shirts, two different sets of joycons, and two gameboy colors.

Actually, the answer is “unknown” because Kenma said he had everything else in the store, and no one had noticed yet.

Kuroo knows he’s going to hell.

“It was a corporate chain, Tetsurou. They’ll barely miss it,” Kenma consoles him, but he’s still going to hell.

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’ve known you for thirteen years.”

“ _Of._ You’ve known _OF_ me for thirteen years. _Of._ ”

Kenma waves a dismissive hand. Whatever social rules this guy operates on, there’s definitely no swaying them.

After he’s done having his conscience stroked, both by his reassurance ( _really_ , he is a good person; just not right now), and Kenma’s horrible attempts to soothe him (“Stealing, if you think about it, is a natural human function.”), Kuroo stands up and clears his throat. He has long since stopped trying to get the people in his apartment to respect his privacy. Daishou is on his back on the living room floor, flipping through a book. Akaashi is watching videos Bokuto keeps showing him, Bokuto is both showing Akaashi videos and scrolling through Kuroo’s browsing history (“Dude you are _so_ boring. No porn or anything.”) And Kenma is pretending like he’s not trying to crack the safe that Kuroo invested in for god knows what reason.

“Okay people! Tommorrows the big day, so make any last phone calls you need to make, write up any wills, steal whatever you need to steal, because tomorrow we’re conning Richard Weston for all he’s wort-Daishou, what’re you reading?”

“Diary. Here’s a fun excerpt. _‘January 7th, 2019: Today a white man tried to talk to me about Quentin Tarantino movies over the internet. This made me question a lot of things. Why are we alive? Why do we exist? Everyday white people like bad and usually racist media. Also, a dog sniffed my ass in front of twenty other people in a park-_ ” Kuroo lunges for him at this point, he misses. Daishou continues, evading him easily. “ _so I really have not been having a great day. My girlfriend broke up with me a month ago, and I don’t really know how to feel about that. I think it was because I’m emotionally stunted when it comes to caring about people._ ” Kuroo lunges, and misses, again. “ _Poem excerpt for entry: Will I be less / dead because I wrote this / poem or more because / you read it / long years hence. -Maya Angelou.’_ ” Daishou finishes with a flourish and a bow just as Kuroo tackles him. The room around them has devolved into violent cackling.

“I’m going to fucking murder you.”

“Really? I’m the first one on your hitlist? I thought it’d be the dog.”

“How much of that did you _read?_ ”

“Oh cover to cover, of course. I’m just working on memorizing.”

Kuroo punches him.

It’s really quite easy since he already had him pinned and he didn’t see it coming, but Kuroo still feels a rush of satisfaction at managing to get a hit in. Akaashi pulls him off with a terrifying ease and mutters: “Baby fights.” He’s, however, still clearly amused from earlier.

Kuroo snatches his journal out of Daishou’s hand. Daishou glares at him as he rubs his jaw where Kuroo punched him.

“You better fucking hope that doesn’t leave a mark,” he snarls.

“Or you’ll what? Read my diary?”

“Already did that, didn’t I?”

They simultaneously narrow their eyes at each other. Daishou sighs and walks into the kitchen, grabbing a pack of frozen pizza rolls out of the freezer. He then does a double take.

“SWEET! You have papico in here!”

“Don’t eat my fucking papico.”

“No way, I love this shit.” His awful mood from earlier seems to have dissipated as he plops down on the couch next to Akaashi and begins to eat (Kuroo’s) papico.

“As I was saying. The meat of the job is tomorrow. By the end of day three: we have his money and get the hell out of dodge. So do whatever you need to do and tomorrow; we swindle this stupid amateur for all he’s worth.”

“Speaking of which, what _did_ he do to you guys?”

“He hired us for a job to steal airplane designs _back_ from his rival. One, we didn’t get paid. Two, Bokuto found the designs weren’t even his originally.”

“What’s the point of that? Lying? We’re thieves, it’s not like we’d care.” Kenma nabs one of Daishou’s papico while he’s not looking.

Daishou nods. “He makes you think he’s an honest man to get you to let your guard down. Then he flips you and doesn’t pay you, you wouldn’t suspect much until you realized what had happened. It’s not a bad move. Not what I would’ve done, but not a bad move.”

“What would you have done, Oh Wise One?” Kuroo jabs.

“If you’re asking literally, I would’ve just stolen the plans myself. But in Weston’s shoes, I would’ve stayed mysterious. Tell them only what they need to know. Be professional about it. Us thieves love professionality. Don’t tell them anything. Wire a small amount, very small, less than the plans are worth, into the crew’s account. As a preliminary payment, show them that they can trust you to keep your word when it comes to money. Tell them the rest will be in cash, maybe show them the cash up front so they know you’re good for it. After you get the plans, tell them to meet at individual drop locations for the cash, and take them out.”

Kuroo suppresses a violent shudder. “So do you just think about this shit in your free time or?”

“That? I came up with that in thirty seconds.” Daishou fails to not look smug.

Bokuto, Akaashi, and Kenma stare at him in horror. “That totally would’ve worked…” Kenma says, both awe and fear in his voice.

“I’ve been in this business a long time.”

Kuroo squints at him. “You’re what? Twenty-five?”

“Twenty, actually.”

Kuroo’s eyes widen in involuntary shock. “Then, how have you been doing this ‘ _a long time’_?”

“I’ve been grifting since I was eleven. Since I learned how.”

“How di-”

Daishou glares, and it holds so much malice and rage that Kuroo shuts up. “It wasn’t always for money,” he says, his voice shaking, almost indiscernibly so. He looks away from Kuroo and his face goes impassive once again. “Anyways, tomorrow everyone, right?”

“I call the couch,” Kenma says without looking up from his game.

“What? No you guys can’t sleep here. You hav-”

Daishou grins knowingly at Kuroo. “I saw sleeping bags in his room.”

“I call one of them!” Bokuto lunges for his room and Kuroo knows better than to try and intercept him.

Akaashi stands up quietly and follows him. Kuroo mouths _Et tu, Brute?_ at him.

Akaashi, not caring to be subtle says. “That doesn’t work because Brutus and Caesar were actually friends. And Caesar was getting stabbed. And-”

“I know how the play goes.” Kuroo pinches the bridge of his nose. Kuroo turns towards Daishou. “At least you’re leaving?”

“Y’know, I absolutely would, but the thing is. I got dragged here at three in the morning, had to run a grift, pretty much by myself, on 3 hours of sleep, and, the kicker is, I didn’t have time to book a hotel. So, here we are.” Daishou shrugs, purely facetious. “I guess I’ll crash on the floor then. God my backs gonna hurt like a bitch. I sure hope I can run the con tomorrow,” his voice is dripping with sarcasm.

“Don’t act like you couldn’t be sleeping in any five star hotel you wanted for free right now.” Kuroo turns towards his bedroom and flips Daishou off behind his shoulder.

“God a bed would be _so_ nice right now.”

“You’re not taking my fucking bed. Good fucking night.”

And that’s that.

**$**

“All right. Daishou, Akaashi, and I are tackling the office building, you two hit his overseas building. Everyone remember the plan?”

Daishou has grown so weary of Kuroo droning. How he’s going to put up with one more day of this he has no idea.

All goes relatively smoothly. There’s a relatively close call when Weston gets there too early, and Daishou has to run down the stairs to catch him. (Kenma: _“Why can’t he go to the directory?”_ Kuroo: “Yeah there’s one small problem with that, we’re not _in_ the directory.”) Daishou, after some careful teaching from Kenma, effortlessly switches the envelopes while in the meeting. Kenma plants the “bug”, which Bokuto is pretty indignant about (“I’m the hacker _I_ should be doing it.”) 

All in all, it goes off without a hitch.

**$**

And then they get caught.

**$**

Weston is positively snarling at him. “That’s right, I figured out your petty little scam. Kuroo Tetsurou, have fun spending the rest of your life in prison. The local police are already on their way. You and your _crew_ will never see daylight again. Enjoy your last few minutes as a free man.”

Kuroo grins and pats his shoulder with excessive force. “Yeah you sure got me Weston. I mean, in order to get out of this. I would have had to anticipated you finding the bug in your office. Which, in reality, would have to be nothing more than a flashing light.”

**_Bokuto: “I really don’t see why we can’t plant an actual bug.”_ **

**_Daishou: “For the theatrics, obviously.”_ **

**_Kuroo: “Shut up.”_ **

“I also would have had to. Y’know, tipped the law enforcement you were bound to call that there might be some errors in your finances.”

**_Bokuto: “Click. You just committed tax fraud. Click. OOH! More tax fraud. C’mon, Kuroo, high-five me. I just made this man commit more tax fraud than Al Capone.”_ **

**_Kuroo: “I don’t think Al Capone committed that much tax fraud.”_ **

Weston begins to pale. Kuroo continues on, sadistic smugness increasing with each word. “And I certainly would have had to make alibis for each meeting that my associate made with you. My associate, who, isn’t here.” Weston looks frantically around for Daishou. “I mean, making sure I was seen on every stoplight camera at the _specific_ time you were being conned. That’s no easy feat.”

“You didn’t-you can’t have-”

“I most certainly could and I most certainly did. Now, let me teach you a little lesson about the stock market.” Kuroo grabs Weston by the shoulders and spins him around towards the television, where law enforcement is packing boxes of papers out of Weston’s overseas offices. He flips the channel. The FBI is doing the same at his home base. “If you own stock in a market that crashes, you lose a _lot_ of money. And generally, if buyers see federal law enforcement packing out boxes of things, even if those things are loads of blank papers,” he nods to where Kenma is dressed in uniform, carrying a box. “The value of the stock tends to crash. Unfortunate. _However,_ if you can predict this, _completely_ unforeseen circumstance, and sell your stock before that happens. Well you can make, now let me calculate this. Approximately _an off the wall INSANE_ amount of money. Shocking, right?” 

The “overseas associates” from yesterday point accusingly at Weston as the police bustle in. “That’s the man. That’s the man who solicited a bribe from us.”

“A bribe from you? _No_ , they bribed _me!_ This is-”

“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that part. You should really know who’s handing you envelopes, Mr. Weston.” 

**_Kenma: “Why can’t I do the switch? I wanna do the switch.”_ **

**_Daishou: “I’m running the grift?”_ **

******_Kuroo: “The mark knows you?”_**

**_Akaashi: “You couldn’t lie well to save your life?”_ **

**_Kenma: “...It’d still be nice.”_ **

Kuroo releases Weston with a quiet shove, and he stumbles right into the police, where they put him in handcuffs.

“Yo-you can-won’t get away with this!”

Kuroo grins, turning halfway towards the door. “I kind of already did.” He shrugs, and walks the rest of the way towards the door.

Weston screaming profanities at him can be heard from seven city blocks away.

(Through comms.)

**$**

A shit ton of zeroes are staring Bokuto in the face. He practically gasps aloud when he sees them.

“This is. This is. A lot…A lot of money,” Kenma seems to be having a hard time controlling himself.

Bokuto continues staring at that string of zeroes. “This is like. Go legit and buy an _island_ kind of money.”

Akaashi’s jaw simply remains open.

Daishou regains some composure. “Well. I’ll see you never I guess.”

“Yeah…” Kenma says. “This was a one off.”

Akaashi hesitates. “Maybe we’ll cross paths again later.”

Bokuto grins but it’s forced. “I am going to buy SO much shit.” 

“...Yeah me too.”

And then they all split.

**$**

Bokuto walks for about seven seconds before turning on his heel and running towards Kuroo. 

“Y’know, your wifi connection is _really_ good.”

**$**

Kenma lasts for about nine.

He sees Bokuto walking with Kuroo and runs up to them. “It’s just, I’ve never made that much money in my entire life, and I fucking LOVE money. And…it wasn’t too bad being the good guy for once.”

**$**

Akaashi lasts for twenty-two seconds before he turns around. Slotting in silently next to the other three.

**$**

Daishou lasts until he sees them pass by. The three thieves trailing Kuroo like loyal dogs. He sighs and turns away, looks at his check again, and walks about three paces before turning back towards them and running full speed at them.

“I hate all of you,” he gasps, out of breath, when he reaches them.

**$**

Kuroo stops and turns towards the gang of thieves he seems to have acquired. He sighs, accepts his fate and says: “I’m gonna need to get a bigger apartment, aren’t I?”


	2. i made a fist and not a plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is up "on time" i cant believe it (this will never happen again)
> 
> chap title from wrecking ball by mother mother!
> 
> once again, you dont need to watch leverage to understand the story, but it does help!
> 
> im on tumblr @adventureuntimed (i changed my url!) please read my byf and dont be a freak
> 
> bold + itals means its a flashback and happened in the past. theres also some texting in this chapter but its p easy to understand!
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR CHAPTER: child abuse referenced/mentioned/alluded to throughout. also VERY brief emeto tw.**
> 
> OH AND JIC ANYONE WAS WONDERING here are the sexualities/genders for the mains of this fic (at least my hcs)
> 
> kuroo: bi  
> daishou: bi and nb  
> kenma: trans and gay  
> bokuto: trans and bi  
> akaashi: gay and nb

Kuroo gets a bigger apartment with the cash from their first job.

Well. _Apartment_ is a bit of a stretch. Considering how much money they all got, he managed to buy a massive two story penthouse in Tokyo, pay all of it off at once, and then still have enough money leftover to live comfortably for a solid amount of years. The landlord was so happy to have that much money at once, he didn’t even question Kuroo on where it came from. Which, he probably should have.

To his endless dismay (even though he knew it was going to happen) everyone else decides to move in with him.

They don’t even ask him. He tells them he got a new apartment, and before he’s even finished unpacking, Bokuto shows up with all his shit in boxes, calls one of the rooms, and then predictably texts everyone else the address. Who, predictably, show up on their own time.

Daishou asks him for help (sarcastically) with his boxes. Kuroo denies him easily, and is, later, glad he did so. (Daishou has way too many clothes-and is that an aquarium?)

They also make…modifications to his new abode.

In one of the rooms, Bokuto installs eight fifty inch televisions to combine into one, wall sized screen. He dubs it “the conference room”. (Kuroo _knows_ he put it in so he could watch sports, while at the same time browse twitter, and also (apparently) text Akaashi. Kuroo sees him in there several times doing about 23 different things at once on the screens.)

Kenma has a climbing wall installed in his living room. Kuroo doesn’t want to talk about it. (It opens to reveal his massive video game collection.)

Akaashi, predictably, keeps it rather simple. He simply has a punching bag (among other things) installed in his room. Though, he has the room beneath Kuroo’s, and every time he uses it, the floor shakes. (Kuroo _knows_ he did it on purpose.)

But Daishou. Daishou is the worst of all.

Snakes. It’s snakes.

You see, there is one extra room after all of them have moved in. And Daishou decides to make it his own personal snake habitat.

Kuroo has just woken up when he sees the door that Daishou normally keeps closed open. He, like the fool he is, decides to investigate.

At first, he’s confused. The floor has been covered in a black mat type thing, and it’s covered in, what looks like, mulch. As soon as you walk in the room, there’s a see through black screen a few feet in front of the door, that spans the whole room like a curtain. In the corner there are several big tupperware containers, with what looks like cleaning supplies in one. There’s a humidifier stacked on top of it.

There’s also plants and branches and perches everywhere. That probably should have tipped Kuroo off.

And then he sees the snake.

Well. Snakes. Plural. But he sees one first.

He does what any rational, sane person would do.

Kuroo screams like a small child. There’s sudden laughter from behind him. He whirls around, now terrified of both the snake and being murdered by a clown.

It’s merely Daishou laughing his ass off.

Kuroo wishes a clown would murder _him._

“You scream like a five year old,” Daishou bemusedly informs him.

Kenma’s door from down the hall opens. “Who’s murdering a cat?” he asks, drowsily, having just woken up.

“Kuroo was introduced to my hobby.”

Akaashi appears. Along with Bokuto. “What would your hobby be, exactly?”

“I keep ball pythons.”

“Plural? I thought you couldn’t keep snakes together.”

Kuroo is incredulous. “ _That’s_ what you’re worried about?”

“Yes. I would say I’m rather concerned with animal cruelty, Kuroo _-san.”_

The honorific would be respectful coming from anyone except Akaashi, who leaves it dripping with annoyance. Kuroo also feels like a jerk.

“I have dividers, so they can’t see each other and don’t get stressed out.” Akaashi nods, apparently appeased with the fact that their shared roommate has a room full of murder pets.

Bokuto appears to be vibrating with excitement. “Can I see one?” He asks, just as the door to Kenma’s room clicks closed. He’s undoubtedly going back to sleep.

Daishou nods at Bokuto’s request and steps around Kuroo into the room. He reappears moments later holding a python.

Kuroo instinctively, scrunches his eyes closed and presses his back to the hallway wall. Akaashi snorts and Daishou full on laughs. He steps away from the wall and clears his throat, embarrassed, but still idles anxiously.

Bokuto eyes the snake appreciatively. “Fucking awesome,” he says when Daishou wraps it around his neck like the world’s most dangerous scarf. “How many do you have?”

Daishou steps back into the enclosure and puts the snake away. “Five.”

And that’s the snake thing in its entirety. (Kuroo wishes his roommates were more outraged, though even he doesn’t hate Daishou enough to make him get rid of his beloved pets. No matter how much he wishes he did.)

**$**

Their first client approaches them a few weeks after everyone’s settled into Kuroo’s apartment.

Daishou, for reasons unknown to the universe, decides to take the client with Kuroo. Looking back on it, he probably did it to bother him. (Probably.)

To his surprise, their client is a silver-haired girl not much older than them. Kuroo is talking idly with her, drinking coffee. Hers is untouched.

He slides in (as effortlessly and annoyingly as possible) next to Kuroo. He grabs his mostly finished coffee and downs it.

Kuroo glares at him. “Must you?”

He nods solemnly, mockingly. “I must.”

Kuroo rolls his eyes and turns to the girl. “Haiba-san this is Daishou Suguru. My…associate.”

“Please, call me Alisa.” She turns to Daishou. “So, what do you do?”

“What ever do you mean?” He puts on his most convincing clueless voice. She doesn’t buy it. This is why he hates smart people.

“I mean, what aspect of the criminal world are you from.”

Kuroo looks as shocked as Daishou feels. “Alisa, I assure you-” 

Daishou drops the act. “Nah, we’re criminals. Thieves. Grifters. However you wanna put it: we do it.”

Alisa grins at him. It’s both terrifying and pretty. Terrifyingly pretty, maybe. “I assumed, from your website.”

_“WEBSITE?”_

“Bokuto,” Daishou explains simply.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

Alisa cuts them off. “I want my brother back.” She pulls out a phone and turns it towards them. The background on the screen is a young teenager with silver hair and eyes like hers.

“What happened to him?” Kuroo asks, softly. Daishou doesn’t need to ask. He’s busy recognizing the look in the kids eyes.

Alisa sighs. “My mom. Well. She’s not the best. She had me and then ditched me with my dad,” she laughs softly. “And like, if she were my dad I would get it. Like it sucks when any parent leaves their kid but. Well, men suck. It’s expected. Anyways-”

Daishou cuts her off. He doesn’t want to hear more. Can’t hear more, even. “She had another kid, with another man, and your brother was put into the foster care system.”

“Not the foster care, here, though. In Russia. There’s tons of orphanages over there, and she, my mom, takes full advantage of that fact.” Alisa pauses, swallows, then continues, “She approached my dad, who’s Japanese, with Lev. My dad and his new wife have been trying to have another kid for ages, they were finally told it was impossible. She-she approached my father, with Lev, who was th-thirteen at the time.” She seems to be getting choked up now. “I had just graduated, but I was still living at home. I’m not the student type.” Tears finally spill over her cheeks.

Daishou shoves a glass of water that somehow had the sense to be on the table towards her. She thanks him and takes a drink.

“You wanna know how I knew you were criminals?” She seems to be getting angry now, her eyes dimming into a cold fury. 

Daishou breathes out and realizes what she’s getting at. “Oh. Oh god no.”

“Yeah. My mom’s a grifter by trade.”

“I’m kinda out of the loop here would you. Uhh. Mind?”

Daishou scoffs, annoyed, but tells him anyways. “It’s the Spanish Prisoner scam.” Kuroo looks at him blankly. “You know how white ladies are always getting tricked by conmen who claim to be an African prince, or some horseshit? That was, initially, the Spanish Prisoner con. But in modern days, it has another variant.”

Alisa continues. “You tell the mark you have an important item or resource, often large sums of money. You show them the item, or money, to back up your credibility, then demand a fee in advance, perhaps a processing or startup fee, then take the money and run.”

Kuroo’s eyes widen in realization. “Your brother, Lev, was the item.”

“Yeah.” Her eyes are distant and impossibly sad. “Yeah, he was.”

“She crossed the two modern variants. In the Nigerian Prince scam, you can keep milking money from the mark as long as needed, but with the other, you only get a one off. You use the emotional attachment to continue to take money from them, while still getting your resource back in the end. It’s…” Daishou doesn’t think Alisa would take kindly to him saying genius. “...evil,” he concludes. Because it is. But…it’s also genius.

“Three years.” Alisa says. “For three years she drained my father of every last penny. He loves Lev so much.” She laughs, thick and sad, “Lev and I would always joke I was mom’s favorite and he was dad’s. My father has no money. They’re going to take his house soon. Worst of all: she took Lev.

“We lost everything. We have no money. No house. And my family has been ripped from me. I am not asking you to help with our financials, though it would be appreciated. I just want my fucking brother back.” Her voice breaks, but her eyes are only cold.

**$**

“We’re taking the case.”

“No, we’re not.”

Daishou snarls so viciously his words are barely intelligible. He steps in Kuroo’s path and attempts to look down on him despite being shorter. “You’re seriously going to let some sixteen year old kid rot in an orphanage in Russia? You’re not going to seek justice for a _child?_ And for _what?”_

Kuroo sneers down at him, but his expression doesn’t match his next words. “You think I didn’t see how you looked in there? You think you’re that good at masking how you feel? You’re good, but not _nearly_ as good as you think you are.”

Daishou physically and mentally takes a step backwards. Very few people have ever been able to read him. 

Just his fucking luck that Kuroo can.

“That’s none of your fucking business,” he replies, curt and cold.

“You looked like you wanted to kill someone. You looked like you wanted to run as far and as fast as you could from that conversation, but still you looked like you wanted to kill someone.”

Daishou glares at him, vicious and threatening, but Kuroo doesn’t back down.

“Is it Lev your seeking justice for? Or is it yourself?”

Daishou shoves him, hard. His back smacks against the wall just as Daishou practically screams: “I said it’s not your fucking business! T-” He cuts himself off, suddenly, purposefully. He’s breathing, heavily and angrily; and even to him it sounds a lot like sobs.

Kuroo looks confused. “Wh-”

He turns on his heel and silently stalks away.

**$**

Kuroo feels bad. He’s not the type to feel bad, seeing that, as a rule, he generally avoids doing things that will make him feel guilty.

He really can’t seem to help himself with Daishou.

Something about the guy…unsettles the carefully crafted boxes he’s sorted his world into. Something about Daishou upsets the balance that he manages to maintain. Something about Daishou makes his mind itch with things unseen.

So Kuroo does the only logical thing: he pushes him until they both snap. (It might not be that logical.)

He knocks on Daishou’s door several hours after…the incident.

Daishou opens it. He looks like he just woke up. It’s six in the evening. Kuroo swallows down something that feels horribly similar to worry. He writes it off as anger.

Daishou practically snarls him, evidently not over earlier. “What do _you_ want?”

Kuroo considers his next words carefully. “...We’re taking the job.”

Daishou falters at his words, his expression dimming in some places and brightening in others. He’s silent for a moment and for a second Kuroo wonders if he’s doing the wrong thing.

But then Daishou beams at him. (Daishou is incapable of “beaming” but Kuroo doesn’t know what else to call it.) He then says: “Damn right we are,” and promptly shuts the door in Kuroo’s face.

Kuroo sighs and texts the group chat that Kuroo forced them all in to.

 **_> >tetsurou: _ ** _meeting in ten minutes. we have a case_

 **_> >tetsurou: _ ** _be there or were leaving you in japan_

 **> electronic pain in my ass:** in the conference room

 **_> >tetsurou: _ ** _why_

 **> electronic pain in my ass: **PLEASE

 **_> >tetsurou: _ ** _fine_

 **> literal pain in my ass: **bokuto-san gets to do the briefing.

 **_> >tetsurou: _ ** _NO_

 **> literal pain in my ass: **yes or im not coming.

 **> klepto pain in my ass: **bokuto will make it more interesting, tetsurou, and therefore we are more likely to pay attention.

 **_> >tetsurou: _ ** _dont call me t_

 **_> >tetsurou: _ ** _you know what i dont care_

 **> the worst.: **yeah *tetsurou* let bokuto do the briefing

 **> electronic pain in my ass: **:flexing::flexing::flexing:

 **_> >tetsurou: _ ** _i hate all of you_

 **> electronic pain in my ass: **well thats uncalled for

 **> the worst.: **speak for yourself. kuroo, i assure you, the feelings mutual.

 **_> >tetsurou: _ ** _well at least theres that_

**$**

“Yelena Sokolov,” Bokuto flicks the remote and what looks like a white version of Haiba Alisa appears on the screen. “Part time actress, full time criminal. This lady runs with a bad crowd.” He flicks the remote again, and more images pop up on the screen in rapid succession. “We’re talking Russian mobsters, famous Russian conmen, and, worst of all, Russian politicians.” About a dozen images of Yelena with other, shady looking people are now on the screen.

“Should be easy enough,” Akaashi mutters sarcastically.

“However,” Bokuto continues. “However! While she may be buddy-buddy with all the bad guys, she herself is small potatoes. She’s made her fortune on a variant of the Spanish-Prisoner scam, using the scads of orphans in Russia, and, apparently,” Bokuto clicks the remote and several photos of Haiba Lev appear. “her own son.”

Kenma looks hesitant. “The Spanish-Prisoner scam but with people... that’s pretty…”

“Genius,” Akaashi finishes for him.

Kuroo throws his hands in the air. “Do _all_ of you know about the…I dunno. Science of cons? But me?”

Kenma nods. “Daishou wrote a book about them.”

“ _You did what?”_

“All underground, obviously. But yes, for your information I wrote a short informative book called _‘Conorifics: Charming Your Way Through The Most Notorious Confidence Schemes In History’.”_

“ _Conorifics? Really?_ That pun doesn’t even work in Japanese. You’re not even _that_ good at English.”

“I’m fluent in eight languages. Excuse me for not devoting time to perfecting the accents.”

“Tha-Wait, _eight?”_

Daishou begins counting off on his fingers. “Japanese, obviously. Spanish for the time I spent in Latin America, lovely place. Korean. Now _that_ brings back memories. I picked up Latin in five months for one scam. Never used it again, sadly. Mandarin. English, because the best breeding ground for crime is, obviously, America. Tagalog-”

“Tagalog’s hard,” Kenma chirps appreciatively. Daishou nods but everyone else looks at him. “What? My mom’s Filipino.”

Daishou continues rattling off languages. “German. God Germany was fun. I think I burned my way through half their economy by the time I was seventeen. Oh, and Russian.”

“You couldn’t have mentioned that _first?”_ Kuroo rolls his eyes. Refusing to be impressed by Daishou’s obvious showing off.

“That’s nine languages,” Bokuto chirps.

“You kept track of all of that?” Kenma asks.

“I wasn’t counting Japanese at first,” Daishou clarifies.

Bokuto nods, satisfied with the explanation but Kuroo is not placated. “Or you’re just pulling shit out of your ass. Speak German right fucking now.”

“Der Bund der Kommunisten, eine internationale Arbeiter Verbindung, die unter den damaligen Verhältnissen, selbstredend nur eine geheime sein konnte-”

“Okay. Fuck we get it. We won’t question your language proficiency again.”

Akaashi seems incredulous. “What ‘we’?” He remarks coolly.

“Can we please get back on track?” Kenma asks, twiddling the joystick on his powered off switch.

Bokuto’s eyes widen. “Oh fuck, that’s right.” Then all of them turn back towards the TV wall as if nothing happened.

“Right. Yelena Sokolov is the mark and our prize,” he clicks the remote, “is Haiba Lev.”

“Right.” Kuroo says. “Bokuto, what’d you find out about Yelena?”

Bokuto brightens, and pulls up what look like financials on the screen. “The most defining characteristic of Yelena Sokolov is that she’s a sad white lady.” He clicks through the documents on the screen. “I got access to her major purchases, and, forewarning, it’s mostly fancy vodka, acting lessons, producer’s investments, and more fancy vodka.”

“How can vodka be fancy?” Kenma asks.

Akaashi nods his agreement. “It tastes like ass.”

“Is this a hint of sharpie marker I detect?” Daishou says.

Kuroo laughs. “I’m getting a faint flavor of burnt tire rubber.”

The five of them burst out laughing, including Daishou, who makes eye contact with Kuroo, and grins: wicked and wide. Kuroo practically preens, but abruptly stops himself.

They all recover, and Daishou examines the images on the screens thoughtfully. “The question is,” he says finally, “what does Yelena want more than anything else in the world?”

“Vodka?” Bokuto asks. “I don’t see how we can con a lady with vodka.”

“No,” Daishou stands up and points to some of the various pieces of information they have about her. “She wants to be an actress. A big one.”

Kuroo gets an idea. “Bokuto, where is Yelena, right now?”

“She’s uhhh…” Bokuto swipes through some stuff on his iPad. “Currently in Germany, she’s set to attend a party at the American embassy with…Vlado Zečević, the Serbian ambassador. The embassy thing is tomorrow night.”

Akaashi suddenly goes very stiff. “I may have. Well. Had business with him.”

“You mean you beat the shit out of him?”

“That, yes.”

“Can you guys refrain from burning yourselves with the marks, like, at all?” Daishou asks. “Anyways, it doesn’t matter. I’m running the con. It’ll be fine.”

Kuroo glares at him. “You’re not running the con.”

Kenma shrugs. “I mean, technically all of us run the-”

“No, he’s not running the con because I don’t want him losing it.”

“I’m a fucking professional, Kuroo.”

They have a ten second staredown. Daishou wins.

“Fine. But if you blow this-”

“I’m a professional,” Daishou repeats.

Kuroo nods, but doesn’t really believe him. “Bokuto can you get us plane tickets to Germany and into the embassy?”

Bokuto begins frantically typing and grumbles something that sounds like “a thank you would be nice”.

“Thank you, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, pointedly glaring at Kuroo.

Everyone takes turns glaring at each other for a few moments. Except Kenma. Kenma is intently focused on Pokemon Shield. He’s played it four times.

Bokuto continues typing for a while, and then perks up. “I got us three tickets for coach and two for first class. I could only swing two for the embassy, so who’s going in?” He looks at Kuroo on this last point.

“Daishou and Bokuto will string the marks along.”

 _“Me?”_ Bokuto asks, incredulous.

“Akaashi’s burned and Kenma can’t have a human conversation to save his life,” Kenma throws a peace sign up at his words, but is otherwise still focused on his game, “so yeah. _You.”_

Bokuto seems to be caught between preening and panicking. “I don’t know…”

“You’re charismatic, in a rather ‘in your face’ way. Just stay calm and you’ll be fine.”

“Who’s taking the first class tickets?” Kenma asks, seeming bored.

There’s a beat of silence before the room devolves into vicious arguing.

**$**

Bokuto is not fine, Daishou decides. Several times, he has to duck out of a conversation to discreetly tell Bokuto what to say. The guy’s definitely panicking, but he hasn’t blown the con. Yet.

Daishou’s trying to deal with the “yet”.

Daishou is also trying to deal with Kenma texting him. _Meddling_ with him. Kenma isn’t allowed to meddle. That’s Daishou’s job. He tells him so.

 **> gay(mer)boy: **im not meddling im merely telling you what to do

 **> gay(mer)boy: **meddling is what you do, and it usually involves at least 10 layers of manipulation

 **_> >suguru: _ ** _im good at what i do, what can i say?_

 **> gay(mer)boy: **are you ever going to tell him?

 **_> >suguru: _ ** _absolutely fucking not_

 **> gay(mer)boy: **you should tell him.

 **_> >suguru: _ ** _and say what? hey i knew you for two years when we were kids, and we might have been best friends but then you left, and then i left, and i forgot all about you until i joined your gang of thieves, but you didn’t remember me, and i didnt remember you at first but then ANOTHER kid we grew up with told me? am i supposed to say THAT, kenma?_

 **> gay(mer)boy: **yeah that exactly

 **_> >suguru: _ ** _no._

 **> gay(mer)boy: **you literally just typed it all out it’s that easy.

 **_> >suguru: _ ** _i hate him and i dont want to tell him_

 **> gay(mer)boy: **fine.

 **_> >suguru: _ ** _fine._

Daishou sighs and pockets his phone. He silently repeats the movements that Kenma taught him earlier, and walks up to Yelena Sokolov. He trips over a nonexistent bend in the carpet and repeats what Kenma told him earlier in his head.

**_Kenma: “It’s easier to perform a lift if you cause shock. Shock throws people off their rhythm, and allows you to take advantage of that missed beat.”_ **

**_Daishou: “That literally explains nothing! You’re the worst teacher in the world!”_ **

**_Kenma: “Think of it this way, lift and grift are pretty much siblings. Lifting is all about making it seem natural, flowing with the ideas that people have about their surroundings. Most humans naturally choose the most plausible explanation, and being pickpocketed is never it. People have a rhythm, and if you can interrupt that beat, and then change it, you can take anything. There’s tons of technical skill involved, but a truly great lift is about understanding that people will see what they want to see, and presenting them with a pretty picture.”_ **

**_Daishou: “That also makes no sense.”_ **

**_Kenma: “Ugh. Just watch me, again.”_ **

So, Daishou trips. He tumbles right at Yelena Solokov’s feet. Kenma, who is serving champagne in a waiter’s uniform mutters “ _Nice one.”_ through the comm in his ear.

Solokov yelps as he falls to the ground and says, “Oh, you poor boy,” as she helps him up. Daishou grabs her arm, and lets it fall towards her purse once he’s on his feet. As fast as Kenma taught him, he slips two fingers into her purse as he slides his hand off her arm, and pulls out her phone and wallet.

Daishou then folds his hand behind his back before she can notice, and feels Kenma walk closely and briskly behind him. There’s a small, nearly unnoticeable _whoosh_ of air by Daishou’s hand as Kenma snatches the items out of his fingers, as smooth as butter.

“Thank you so much,” he says in perfect Russian.

She looks taken aback, and Daishou uses her shock to slide easily into his prepared bit.

“I’m in the same line of work as you. It’s helpful to speak in many tongues.” He feeds her a soft, nearing on shy smile, as though he’s not confident in his skills.

They say the only way to con a conman is to tell them the truth. They don’t talk about the lies in between.

Sokolov’s eyes glint with a ferocious light. “I find the same,” she tells him in Japanese. “So, what brings you to the German embassy?”

Daishou nods coolly to Bokuto, both as an answer and a cue. “My friend is very big in the movie business. He’s here searching for some big names to produce his next big project.”

Yelena Sokolov has been keen and sharp up to this point, but her eyes glass over with a dumb, hopeful energy. The thing about hope is that it makes people stupid. “I would love to help!”

“Oh? Should I wave him over?”

“Yes!”

Daishou nods again to Bokuto, who of course heard everything over comms, and begins walking towards them.

Bokuto strikes up an idle conversation with Sokolov, and somehow manages to use his eccentricity to play the tortured artist part, just like Daishou instructed him. Maybe he’ll be fine, afterall. After a minute, Daishou excuses himself, nabbing a flute of champagne off the nearest tray on his way to sulk by the window.

He downs it in two large gulps.

Daishou’s been staring out the window for a while when someone says something in an unfamiliar language behind him. He flips around to see the Serbian ambassador that was on Bokuto’s screens hours earlier. The man tries again, in the same language. Daishou stares at him blankly.

Then, in broken English: “Seems you know my friend.”

Daishou replies, in far better English: “Ah yes.” He hesitates, then takes a risk. “I had to meet the woman behind the scheme?”

“That would be?”

Daishou fakes being affronted. “Surely you’ve heard of her Spanish Prisoner variant? I mean, using children for it? Genius.” He’s not lying but it feels like he is.

 _“That?_ That scheme was mine! I come up with scheme, I supply children for scheme, and she takes the credit? Ridiculous.”

Daishou grits his teeth so hard he’s sure it can be heard over the comms. “You supply the children?”

 _“Daishou don’t.”_ Kuroo warns.

“Yes! I am brains behind operation! Serbia is littered with children, easy enough.”

_“Daishou, get out of there.”_

He can feel heat prickling behind his forehead. “How do you get the children? I must know, the whole plan is genius really.”

Kuroo’s practically snarling over the comms. _“Daishou get the fuck out of there.”_

“Streets are filled with orphans. Easy to snatch or lie, and they flock to me like rats! Little do they know, I sell them! They are very stupid.” Either Vlado Zečević is “very stupid” or Daishou is laying on the charm extra thick. His vision is starting to swim, so he doesn’t contemplate it much.

“Really? What’s the profit margins on the-”

 _“DAISHOU!”_ Kuroo’s practically screaming at him.

Zečević’s brow crinkles. “You hear something?”

Daishou waves a dismissive hand, barely conscious of what he’s doing. “I think it was the wind. But, I must be getting back to my friend…what was it again?”

“Vlado Zečević. I am the Serbian ambassador.”

“Well, Vlado, I must be getting back. Perhaps I’ll see you around.”

Daishou is gone before Zečević has the sense to ask for his name. He’s not sure if he’s composed enough to give a fake one, anyway.

**$**

Daishou keeps himself together before he gets to the hotel room and immediately rushes for the bathroom. He has enough sense to rip his comm out before emptying his stomach into the hotel toilet. He straightens up, wipes his eyes of nonexistent tears, and then throws up again. 

After he’s been slumped against the toilet for a few minutes, asleep in every sense but physical, there’s a sharp rap at the bathroom door. It knocks him out of his stupor just in time to see Kuroo (rudely) open the door and step inside, closing the door behind him.

“I told you to get out of there.”

Daishou glares up at him from the bathroom floor, but says nothing.

Kuroo sighs and slumps against the bathroom door, sliding down it until he’s sitting on the floor with Daishou. His too long legs are folded awkwardly in front of him. Daishou continues glaring.

Kuroo isn’t glaring back, which worries Daishou. _I’m not worried,_ he tells himself. _Just pissed off._

“I told you to get out of there,” Kuroo repeats. He seems sad. Lost, almost.

Daishou rolls his eyes. “You almost blew my cover.”

“You almost blew everyone’s cover!”

“I had it under control!”

Kuroo’s definitely glaring now. Whatever strange emotion had come over him before seems to have dissipated. “So you _totally_ would have been fine if he had started talking about how profitable abusing children is?”

Daishou chokes on his words and they die without air in his throat. He feels tears prickling at the back of his eyes, he swallows thickly, and shoves them back.

The thing they don’t tell you about compartmentalizing, is that you have to beat the monster back even if your fists are bloodied. You have to wake up and crush whatever you choose not to face, consciously or not. Every morning Daishou chooses to ignore the thing that lurks in the corners of his mind.

The thing they don’t tell you about ignoring your problems, is that it’s a lot of hard work.

Kuroo is looking at him in a strange way and Daishou feels his will crumpling under his gaze. So he speaks: “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You should.”

“Things don’t get fixed by _talking_ about them.”

“Then how do they?”

Daishou considers his answer carefully before he speaks. “They don’t. The vital broken parts inside never get fixed, you just have to keep going until, one day, you wake up and realize you’ve learned to live without them.”

Daishou expects a lot of answers from Kuroo. He mostly expects him to get up and leave. What he certainly doesn’t expect is what Kuroo says next.

“You’re right.” Daishou gives him a quizzical look. Kuroo sighs: sad and lost once again. “Think about it this way. Whenever you scrape your knee, or cut your finger, or whatever, you don’t get what you lose back. The cells that are destroyed do not repair themselves.”

“We get it you were a STEM major.”

Kuroo cracks a smile. “There’s actually exceptions to that rule. There’s pretty much exceptions to every rule in biology, but I figured I’d make it elementary enough to make you feel better.”

Daishou laughs and hates himself for feeling better.

“The moral of the story is that you have to grow new things to live with. And believe me, they will grow back ugly and they will grow back _wrong_ , but you will learn to survive with the ugly and the wrong.”

There is a long stretching silence before Kuroo speaks again. “My dad walked out on me and my mom when I was ten. Our house was insured by the company that he had just become the…well, boss of, I guess.” Kuroo seems pained as he talks. “One day I left a space heater on, by the window. It was one of those old, shitty ones. Anyways,” he takes a deep breath, “the curtains on the window caught fire, and our whole house burned down in the night.”

“We all got out, fortunately. But the damage had been done. At that point in time, my parents’ relationship was already on the rocks. They would scream at each other and fight and never wanted to be around each other, but they stayed together. For me, I think.”

Kuroo sighs, then stands up and leaves the bathroom for a moment. Daishou thinks it’s over, but then he comes back with a pocket sized bottle of tequila.  
Daishou rolls his eyes. “I’m not paying for that,” he says as Kuroo downs it one.

“Sure you are,” he grins but its empty inside. “My dad left after that night. The house was insured by his company, but he took the entire insurance payout in the divorce, leaving me and my mom jobless and homeless. It didn’t help that my mother was a black woman in Japan: nowhere worth working for would hire her.”

“Who finally did?” Daishou asks.

“No one. She took me and moved me back to the states with her family. She went back to school for her doctorate while she worked a bunch of different jobs. I moved back to Japan for college. She’s still in the U.S., she’s a professor of chemistry at some private school on the east coast. Bunch of evil, rich, white kids, but it pays well.”

Daishou stares intently at a spot on the floor. Like maybe if he stares at it hard enough, it will tell him what to say next.

Kuroo stands up before he can speak. “Well. That’s my tragic backstory. Maybe one day, you can return the favor.”

And then he walks out the door, closing it softly behind him.

**$**

Kuroo is woken up far too early in the morning for his (or any sane person’s) taste. His eyes snap open and for a moment he panics and forgets where he is, before remembering they’re running a con. In Germany. And Russia.

He never wants to travel this much again.

He doesn’t have much time to think about it because he’s soon entirely preoccupied with an assault on his ears.

It feels oppressive and anxiety inducing, the beats are out of sync and erratic. The electronic notes are out of place and throw him off so badly he wants to get out of bed just to put an end to it. It also appears to be coming from his own phone.

It, thankfully, stops when he flicks his phone on. But the damage has been done.

This is Bokuto’s doing, without a doubt.

Kuroo swings himself out of bed and opens his hall door to find Daishou already in there. He’s wearing Hatsune Miku pajama pants and a loose black shirt. He has his hands over his ears and is looking around frantically. He must not have figured out it’s coming from his phone.

“Nice pants,” Kuroo tells him.

“Fuck off.” He says it too loudly on account of having his ears plugged.

Kuroo snickers. “No I’m serious I love Hatsune Miku.”

“I lie for a living. You really shouldn’t try to pull one over on me. Anyways, Hatsune Mikue is better than you ever will be.”

“How old were you when you got them?”

“Fifteen. Shut up. I don’t have anything else right now.”

Kuroo opens his mouth to make fun of him more, but then Akaashi’s door bursts open and he makes a beeline for what must be Bokuto’s room. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.” He bangs his fist on Bokuto’s door.

Bokuto opens it with a manic grin just as Kenma also opens his door.

On a worse note, the music is playing from Bokuto’s room at a far louder volume.

“What the fuck is that!” Daishou asks.

“Bro just turn your phone off,” Bokuto snickers. Daishou looks deeply embarrassed as he discovers the music is coming from his phone.

Akaashi on the other hand, just steps past Bokuto into his room and starts to randomly turn electronics on and off. Finally, the music stops.

“It’s eight different versions of Megalovania each played a couple notes behind each other,” Bokuto pulls his phone out of the pockets of his plaid pajama pants and starts playing it again. Everyone winces. “Isn’t it horrible!” He says, grinning.

“Turn it off!” Kenma yells. “This is a crime against Toby Fox!”

Bokuto turns the music off. Everyone lets out a sigh of relief.

“So? Everyone ready for business? We got a flight to catch!”

Kuroo groans. “You couldn’t have mentioned that last night.”

“I had to stay up until like. One. So I could get us plane tickets to Russia. Unless any of you can do computers, you should probably be worshipping me.” Bokuto flexes ostentatiously.

“Thanks, Bokuto-san.”

“Akaaaaaashi! You can drop the san!”

Kuroo, Kenma, and Daishou all glance at each other. _When did they start talking?_

Akaashi shoots each of them glare that says: “ _Bring it up and I will stab you with a barbeque fork.”_

(No one doubts he will.)

**$**

Turns out that they figured out Yelena Sokolov’s plans for the next _month_ off the phone that Daishou lifted. Kenma also took about the equivalent twenty thousand yen in Russian currency out, before putting it back in her purse. Kuroo doesn’t even scold him, to Daishou’s surprise.

Bokuto manages to nab two coach tickets and two first class. (Apparently Akaashi has a fake air marshal badge.)

“Wait, do you even speak English?” Daishou asks.

“Enough. Don’t really have to.”

“What if you get-”

“People are generally intimidated by me,” Akaashi glares at Daishou. “You would learn well from them.”

“What languages _do_ you speak?” Bokuto’s vibrating as they approach the airport. 

“Korean, Japanese, and I’m decent at Mandarin.”

“Cool!” Bokuto’s bouncing. Since the first job, Bokuto has grown increasingly more energetic, Daishou has discovered. “How’d you learn?”

“My mom is half Korean and half Chinese. I grew up with all of them.”

Bokuto nods enthusiastically. “I dated a girl who was really good at Spanish! She taught me a bit! She was half Cuban. Actually you guys might know her, she-”

“ _YOU DATED MIKA?”_ Daishou shouts. _I have to be hallucinating,_ he thinks.

“Yeah! How do you know Mi-”

Daishou grabs Bokuto by the shoulders and stares intensely at him. “Please tell me. Please dear god tell me. Even if you’re lying, that you did not date Yamaka Mika.”

“Sorry dude! Do you know her or someth-”

Bokuto is cut off by Kuroo’s dawning realization and subsequent cackling.

“Dude!” Kuroo’s laugh sounds like a hyena (barking and choking at the same time). “You dated his ex!”

Akaashi’s eyes widen imperceptibly before he, too, devolves into ( _vicious, mocking)_ laughter. Kenma is focused on pickpocketing people they walk by while Kuroo’s distracted, but he hides a snicker behind his hand.

“When.” Daishou says, now a desperate man. “When did you date her?”

“Uhh? Like eight-nine months ago?”

Daishou slouches, head in hands. Kuroo laughs harder.

They’ve reached the airport.

**$**

Once at the airport, they all split. Kuroo with Daishou, Kenma with Bokuto, and Akaashi doing whatever the fuck he wants to do, apparently. Kuroo and Daishou have been demoted to coach, seeing as _“You guys got first class last time!”_ to which Daishou responded: _“If you want to sit in first class, you should be better at arguing.”._ They lost in the end, anyways.

It’s a short(er) flight to Russia, but Kuroo and Daishou arguing over the logistics of the con make it unbearably long. (For everyone.)

When Kuroo finally (finally) steps out of the airport, the others aren’t far behind him.

It’s all relatively simple really: the job, that is. They’re to convince Yelena to bring Lev in to the movie, then nab him and take him back to Japan.

“Alright people!” Kuroo claps his hands together. “Let’s go steal a show!”

**$**

“I’m so sorry Yelena! You cannot act in my movie!” Bokuto thinks he’s really gotten better at this.

 _“Tone it down.”_ Daishou says over the comms. He’s currently not here, seeing as him and Kuroo went to check out a frequented location in Yelena’s phone, that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere.

**_Daishou: “It’s probably where they keep the orphans.”_ **

**_Kuroo: “We’re just here for Lev, remember.”_ **

**_Daishou: “I want to see it.”_ **

**_Kuroo: “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”_ **

**_Daishou: “You can fuck off! I want to see it.”_ **

**_Kuroo: “You can’t save everyone.”_ **

**_Daishou: “I-”_ **

**_Bokuto: “Uhh, guys?”_ **

**_Kuroo: “Shit.”_ **

**_Daishou: “Fucking comms.”_ **

(Bokuto was offended by their disregard for his comms.)

“Why can I not act? Is it my hair? I can change it! I can change anything!”

“You cannot act in a movie if there is no movie.”

Yelena seems desperate. “What is it? What is wrong.”

“The boy! The boy we had to play your son. He is missing! Gone! Into thin air!”

_“I said tone it down.”_

“Can’t you find someone new?”

“No! This boy. He was perfect. Silver hair, just like yours. Unnerving eyes. Very strange looking. About sixteen. I know of no one else!” Bokuto refuses to tone it down. He’s having a grand time.

“I have the perfect boy!” Yelena shouts. “Just don’t cancel the movie? Okay! I will go get him.” And she rushes off. He hopes Kuroo and Daishou are done by now.

Bokuto allows his shoulders to slump and slinks back to where Akaashi is hiding. Except Akaashi called it “strategically observing from a secure location”. 

“Hey hey hey!” He calls as he steps into the prop truck. 

“Hello, Bokuto-san.”

“Akaashiiii! That was fun! Wasn’t that fun?”

“I was in the truck the whole time, but you did great.”

Bokuto beams at him. Akaashi speaks but it’s not to him. 

“Yelena’s on her way, guys. You might want to get out of there.”

Kuroo speaks and it seems sad. _“Yeah, we’re on our way out. Daishou’s. Well. Daishou’s not doing too great.”_

There’s no response from Daishou. _He probably took his comm out,_ Bokuto thinks, bitter, but more worried than anything.

“Okay,” Akaashi says, glancing at Bokuto with a confused expression. “We’ll get out of here as soon as we have Lev.”

_“About that…”_

_“No.”_ Daishou says, finally.

_“You don’t want to save them?”_

_“Want and ability are two different things. We can’t save them, Kuroo.”_

_“We’ll talk about it when we’re back.”_

Kenma pops up behind Bokuto and Akaashi. Neither of them react, they’re both far too used to it. “Okay. Don’t die.”

_“Encouraging as always.”_

**$**

The orphans in the “orphanage” are malnourished, dirty, and have a horrible haunted look about them. The younger ones shudder and hide when they see Kuroo and Daishou. The older ones simply stare blankly.

Daishou cries openly for the first time in two years.

**$**

They decide to leave the orphans. Maybe they’ll come back for them later, maybe they won’t. But they’re leaving nonetheless.

Something in Kuroo feels horribly out of place. He knows Daishou must feel worse.

They begin “filming” in the morning. Yelena brings Lev in, and so it begins.

“Alright people from the top!” Bokuto shouts. They start rolling on the (horrible) script that Daishou wrote for them on the plane, and Yelena and Lev take their positions. Lev shifts with a nervous energy. He almost reminds Kuroo of Bokuto.

“Yelena! You and that kid are up.”

“I put him in closet when army men shoot?”

“Yes god we’ve been over this! From the top of the scene let’s go!” _Bokuto is definitely power drunk,_ Kuroo thinks.

Yelena runs through the set, out of breath and acting rather well, Lev being tugged along behind her. They reach the house and Yelena shoves Lev into the closet.

“Alright Kenma you’re up.”

_“Roger.”_

Kuroo jogs towards the prop truck where Akaashi is waiting. Bokuto backs up, still shouting commands from his megaphone when he reaches the truck. Kenma and Lev are already there.

“Alright. Let’s go.” The mood of the whole team is rather horrible.

Akaashi starts the truck and starts to shift gears when Kenma says: “Where’s Daishou.”

There’s a terrible, knowing silence that falls over the truck before Kuroo speaks. “Fuck. Well. Let’s go get him.”

**$**

They manage to get the kids out of there with some rapid Russian (they’re mostly Serbian but they seem to get the gist) from Daishou and well-timed, emphatic nods from Kuroo.

They get out successfully.

Until they don’t.

One of the guards(?) spots them, and starts shouting in Russian. Kuroo and their group of orphans flee down the stairs as Daishou yells insults at them in Russian. (It doesn’t seem to be much of a deterrent.)

“Your mother has tiny muscles!” Daishou yells, as they pile into the truck. He counted sixteen orphans in all, and they barely fit. He pulls himself onto the prop truck just as the people in the building round the corner. This time armed with military grade rifles and Vlado Zečević.

All Daishou can do is stare in horror and wait until the bullets hit. 

He closes his eyes, and braces himself.

The impact never comes.

Daishou opens his eyes, glancing around frantically. There’s nothing. No blood, no damage. Nothing.

Finally his eyes land on Kuroo. Kuroo’s wearing a shit eating grin, and he suddenly understands.

“Pretty good, right?” He asks, even though he knows it was.

**$**

**_Bokuto: “So I did some research on Vlado Zečević, and turns out he’s totally corrupt.”_ **

**_Kuroo: “Well, I could’ve told you that.”_ **

**_Bokuto: “No, like ‘steal military grade weapons and sell them to insurgents’ corrupt.”_ **

**_Kuroo: “So those men at the orphanage with the guns were-”_ **

**_Bokuto: “Buyers.”_ **

_The buyers seem to have noticed that their shiny new toys are fake,_ Kuroo notes with glee.

They throw the guns down and, like a pack of dogs turning on their master, all whirl on Zečević. 

“You sell us these… child’s toys?”

“No! I swear!”

Daishou’s grinning from ear to ear. _It’s a good look on him,_ Kuroo thinks. Then abruptly chooses to forget he ever thought it. 

“How’d the weapons get switched with the props?”

“Well, we had a little help while they were distracted…”

**_Kenma: “These are so fucking heavy. Why does Bokuto get to carry the props? He’s buff, he should be doing this.”_ **

**_Bokuto: “EXCUSE YOU! Bokuto is doing another very important job, and doesn’t have time to drag big guns into a closet.”_ **

**_Akaashi: “Both of you just shut up and lift.”_ **

Then, the building explodes into a shower of fire and rubble behind Zečević and the buyers.

“Okay, how did you pull _that_ off?”

“That was Bokuto’s _very_ special job.”

“And the weapons?” Daishou is clearly trying (and failing) not to smile.

“In the building.”

He laughs, clear and loud. “What about Yelena?”

Bokuto yells from the front of the truck: “Oh I can explain this one! Remember how I drained the producer’s bank account so he’d leave production? Let’s just say Yelena got a very big pay day, and a _very_ big jail sentence.”

“You got the money back, though, right?”

“Oh but of course.”

Kuroo’s gang of thieves all laugh at the blatant theft, and he can’t even be mad at their disregard for other people’s money. 

They just pulled off the impossible, after all.

**$**

When they get home Daishou thinks about what Kuroo said that night on the bathroom floor. Granted, he was probably drunk and being far nicer than he would ever be caught dead sober, but the words find some hollow point in Daishou’s chest and define it, fill it.

_“The moral of the story is that you have to grow new things to live with. And believe me, they will grow back ugly and they will grow back wrong, but you will learn to survive with the ugly and the wrong.”_

As Daishou lay in bed, jet lagged out of his mind and staring at the ceiling and thinking about the past few days, he realizes he’s surviving.

Even if parts of him are broken, twisted, _ugly,_ and _wrong,_ Daishou feels a sense of accomplishment at growing from the roots that had been severed from the plant. He realizes that despite his past, he has stayed alive, survived, and possibly even found happiness. (In his snakes. His new room. His prized possessions.) (Mostly in the team of criminals he’s been recruited into, though he’ll never tell them that.)

 _I am bigger, and grander, than all the things that have made me feel small,_ he thinks to himself.

Then he thinks: _Maybe Kuroo isn’t so bad after all._

(He quickly dismisses that second one.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on tumblr @adventureuntimed!!!! read my byf!
> 
> kudos/comment if you want!!
> 
> no idea what ep next chapter will be, or if ill do og content, so stay tuned!!
> 
> oh btw massive bonus points to anyone who can recognize the german daishou spoke without googling it
> 
> CHAPTER ONE: s1e1 the nigerian job  
> CHAPTER TWO: s1e6 the stork job

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @sugwru!! read my byf!!!!
> 
> kudos/comment if you want!!
> 
> next chapter is s1e6, the stork job, if you want to get prepared!
> 
> new chapter will hopefully be up soon!
> 
> CHAPTER ONE: s1e1 the nigerian job


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